Stolen
by KatherineLynn
Summary: Draco is a spy for the Order, and Hermione knows. No one else can. So when Draco finds a letter meant for someone else written by someone that seems to know his thoughts so well, will he be able to stay loyal to anyone? Dramione.
1. Letters of Doubt

A/N: Hip hooray! I have returned to fan fiction. I hope everyone missed me. I would be very upset if you didn't. So I decided, since it is the end of my first semester in college that I would start with an all new story. I hope it is nearly as good as "The Life I Loved," but that remains to be seen. This is not DH compatible, and only part of HBP compatible. Dumbledore is not dead, and the Golden Trio is indeed attending their final year at Hogwarts. This will, of course, be a Draco/Hermione coupling, as if you didn't know me well enough already. But I think the other couples remain to be seen.

Disclaimer: I hope you didn't waste all your reading energy on the Author's Note because I need to tell you that these are not my characters, but only my plot.

Chapter One: Letters of Doubt.

The fog felt like a second cloak around young Draco Malfoy's skin as he climbed the steep steps up to the foyer of Malfoy Manor, trying to dispel the chills that were coursing down his spine like raindrops on a windowsill. Today was going to change the course of his life, either for good, or for worse. He pulled his midnight colored cloak tighter around his taut body as he wondered exactly what the course of tonight would have to be for his life to change for the better. He shook his head, sending pieces of platinum hair into flight around his almost pointy ears. Tonight would either change his life for the worse, or it would end his life all together.

He stopped outside the closed door to the ballroom, bracing himself mentally and physically for what he was about to endure. His father would be standing at the Dark Lord's right side, presumably to seem more important than he was. His mother would be at his father's side, like a loyal lap dog, although her eyes would show nothing but fear for her only son. Bellatrix would be in the front row, quivering with absolute delight. And the Dark Lord himself would be on his throne, in the center of the room, in the center of attention.

His forbidding presence had already snuck its tendrils through the crack in the door and squeezed Draco Malfoy's heartstrings tight. He took a deep breath, let go of his cloak, and swept into the room, letting his cloak billow out around him much like Severus Snape had always done when he was the Dark Lord's most trusted spy. But now Severus Snape was nothing more than Dumbledore's pocket monkey, as Bellatrix would say, and was only still alive by sheer force of will.

Draco kept his eyes straight forward, keeping his mind curiously blank of all thought as he heard the whispers start in his wake. He had been chosen by the Dark Lord to silently invade the Order's minds, and their battles. He had been chosen to give up his life for the cause, for surely when the final battle came around he would not live. He had been chosen, chosen to be marked for life, hated by both sides, feared by none. He had been chosen for greatness, but only on one side.

"Good evening, my Lord," he said, bowing low, feeling disgustingly like a house elf. He straightened and faced Voldemort, meeting the red slits of his eyes. Voldemort didn't answer, just stared, and Draco felt his mental composure slipping as Voldemort raked through his thoughts.

"What news have you for me, Draco?" He hissed lowly, speaking no louder than a whisper.

Draco did the same. "Potter will not be moved from the hideout until the day of September the first. He will be taken to the station in a Ministry car, full of Aurors. Dumbledore has arranged for there to be three cars, one with Potter, and two decoys. Potter will be in the first car, with the oaf Hagrid, the werewolf Lupin, and the Mudblood."

Voldemort showed no signs of gratitude, but Narcissa glanced up at him as if for approval for her son's information. Voldemort had given Draco difficult missions ever since Lucius had botched the retrieval of the prophecy almost two years back. His intention had been to drive Narcissa crazy with worry and grief that her son would no doubt die and make Lucius even angrier than he already was when he realized that the death of his son would only bring more disgrace.

But Draco just wouldn't die.

He had been through the Forbidden Forest last year, seen all the terrible creatures that lived within, from the centaurs to acromantulas, to the occasional werewolf that wandered in. He had walked out virtually unscathed, save for mentally. He had watched countless Muggles die after hours of useless torture, mostly beautiful girls that had followed him into the wrong dark alley. He had seen terrible things; he had committed terrible atrocities that he could never take back, just so he could stay alive.

"I have another mission for you, Draco," Voldemort hissed triumphantly. Narcissa let out a small breath.

"I will do whatever you wish, my Lord," Draco said, bowing again, disgusted with himself.

"It seems you are better than we expected at this espionage business. However, I need your talents elsewhere. You will kill the Weasley family."

"Yes my Lord."

"And the Mudblood. She's too valuable to Potter to leave alive."

Draco bowed. "Yes my Lord."

"You are dismissed."

And his ordeal was over. Draco leaned against the wall outside the ballroom, taking deep breaths to calm his frenzied heart. He stayed there for a few minutes, listening to the hum of voices on the other side of the wall, hoping against hope that no one was going to come outside and happen upon him there, leaning against the wall like an invalid.

He pushed himself away from the marble and trudged slowly to his bedroom, where he turned on the water as hot as he could stand and stepped into his shower, watching his alabaster skin turn the slightest shade of pink. He stood under the hot stream and watched the water slide over the ridges of his abs and hip bones, and ran his fingers over his small but noticeable scars from his treks into the wilderness, when the Dark Lord hoped he would never come out again.

He dried himself off with a fluffy towel and dressed in linen cream colored pants and a buttery soft shirt that clung to his torso. He locked his door securely with a few spells that he had seen Granger use a few times and Apparated to the front door of Grimmauld Place.

*********

"Oh come on Harry, give it back!" Hermione giggled, reaching up for her book that Harry Potter, now almost six feet tall, held high above her head. Her unruly mane of curls fell down to the middle of her shoulder blades as she tilted her neck upwards.

"It's summer, Hermione," he taunted as she leaped futilely for the book. "No reading allowed."

Hermione smirked, then reached into her pocket for her wand.

"No!" Harry yelped. "Here's your book!" and he was yanked into the air by his ankle. He squirmed, almost smacking his forehead against the chandelier. She removed the spell and he toppled on top of her, sending them both crashing to the floor.

They laughed hysterically for a second, and tried to catch their breath.

"What are you doing?" said a voice from the doorway.

Harry jumped off of Hermione. "Hermione levitated me then dropped me," he said, sounding rueful. Hermione flipped her hair away from her face and punched Harry on the arm.

"I wouldn't have if he hadn't kept stealing my book," she giggled.

Ron just stared at them, like he was looking at something particularly curious under a microscope. Hermione started fidgeting under his quizzical gaze. To distract herself from the growing tension, she snatched her book back from Harry and smacked him with it on her way back to her armchair.

"I just came to tell you that uh, dinner is ready," Ron said awkwardly, wringing his hands in front of his belt. Hermione closed her book and put it back on the shelf and followed Harry out the door.

"You could give him a chance, Hermione," Harry said quietly, trying to keep his words away from Ron. "He really likes you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, I gave him tons of chances last year, and he was still snogging Lavender in every corner of the castle. I forgave him for that, and now I'm content with being friends, because I don't know when he's going to choose to go off and snog some other tart again. If he likes me, he should open his mouth and say something. Maybe, if he says it right, I'll give him yet another chance." Harry looked triumphant. "Maybeeeeeeeee," she said, drawing out the word.

Harry nodded slyly, his mouth curved upward on one side.

"Harry James Potter, don't you dare tell him. Just let him grow up on his own." She waved her wand in front of his nose. Harry held up his hands in mock surrender.

"I won't. I won't." He took his seat next to Ron, who immediately moved to the other side of the table between Ginny and Fred. Harry looked over at Hermione, who spooned some potato soup into her bowl and ignored him.

Ron didn't speak all through dinner. Hermione kept up conversation with almost everyone at the table, and even made a few jokes in Ron's direction, hoping he would cheer up, but no such luck. Harry gave her a significant glance, as if to tell her "I told you so." Hermione ignored him.

"Your Hogwarts letters should be coming soon," Mrs. Weasley said to Hermione, who nodded excitedly.

"I'm so nervous! I hope I got Head Girl," she gushed. "The Heads have their own tower, and the prefects share their dormitory. If Head Boy is a Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or another Gryffindor, then it would be okay. As long as Head Boy isn't a Slytherin."

Fred chuckled and shook his head. "Who would they even choose as Head Boy from Slytherin? Malfoy? Please."

Hermione tilted her head to the right. "I was thinking more along the lines of Theodore Nott, but your guess is good too."

Fred chucked a roll at her.

*********

Ron was lying on his bed when Hermione knocked on his door.

"Can I come in?" she asked. Harry followed close behind her, looking concerned.

"I would rather you didn't," he said distantly, not taking his eyes off a cob web in the corner. Hermione ran her fingers through her curly hair, then yanked her hand out when her finger got caught on a tangle. Harry raised his eyebrows at her, then pushed her into the room anyway.

"Ron, cheer up."

"No."

Hermione looked back at Harry, praying for patience. He gave her a reassuring smile, then dug his elbow gently into her back to prod her onward. She compiled her speech in her mind, her points of how she didn't appreciate being played for a fool last term, how she wasn't sure if she could trust him with her feelings yet, but she was willing to give him a chance, and opened her mouth to speak, when Ron spoke again.

"Shouldn't you be off snogging Harry somewhere?" he said snidely.

Hermione blinked. "Excuse me?" she asked, her voice sliding up an octave. "Just because Harry likes to take my book and I accidentally drop him where I shouldn't, you think we're snogging?!" Her pale cheeks flushed with color, and Harry took a step away from the tirade.

"He was on top of you, Hermione! What do you want me to think?"

"I don't care what you think!" Hermione shrieked back at him. "But after we told you what happened, I would hope you would think we told you the truth!"

Ron didn't answer her.

"You know what Harry," Hermione said, turning her back to Ron. "Maybe Ron doesn't deserve another chance." She gave Harry a sneer that was slightly less terrifying than usual with a tear hanging from the tip of her eyelashes.

Ron sat upright in his bed quickly. But Hermione ignored him, and slammed the door on her way out.

"She was gonna –"

"Yep."

"And I just –"

"Probably."

"And she's never –"

"I seriously doubt it."

"Son of a BITCH!"

*********

Hermione Granger curled up on her bed, her book clutched tightly against her chest, and stared at the wall. She had only spared one tear for Ronald Weasley. She had cried enough over him last year when he had rubbed his relationship with Lavender Brown in her face. She had hoped, with all her heart, that he would come to her and tell her all the romantic things she wanted to hear. She had hoped he would be her first kiss. She wanted him to sweep her off her feet, to hold her when she cried. She didn't want him to make her cry.

But she was resolved. She wasn't going to cry anymore. She unrolled some parchment and dipped her quill in ink and started writing a letter, in her pretty cursive, to Viktor Krum.

Dear friend,

Today started off a good day. I wake in the morning ready for a day of greatness, ready to achieve something that I knew I was destined to achieve. Instead, I was heartbroken. To save myself the humiliation of sounding like a wretched, weak child, I digress. I stood at my window today, looking out onto London, and wondered, are we doing what we're supposed to do?

Are we really the good guys? Or are we somehow, maybe the lesser of two gigantic evils that no one could possibly hope to overthrow? Or are we just a futile attempt at changing fate, chasing a dream that can never be attained?

I wonder, as I wake up everyday, if this will be the day that I go to sleep and never wake up. I fear death, more than anything else. I know, with what my job entails, that it is a very real possibility, every day that I walk out the door, that I might never walk in. I know that every day could be my last, and I should live it the best I can.

And I try. Instead I get caught up in trivial things, like fighting with my friends, or reading a book by the fire. Is that what wise people meant by living your life to the fullest? Or did they want you to go out and be a hero, everyday?

I have no idea what the future holds. I thought I might, but since I never possessed a talent for Seeing, I'm sure now that I am totally wrong.

I miss you, dear friend, and wish you were here to guide me on these troubled days.

Love,

Your friend at Hogwarts.

She refused to put her name or Viktor's, should the letter be lost. She didn't reveal much in her letter, but to have so many doubts, and to be one of the Golden Trio…well, she didn't want to think about it.

She tied it to a tawny owl and let it go. She curled up on her bed again, tracing the curved letters on the front of her book, when she heard a loud crack.

*********

"Welcome back, Mr. Malfoy, I presume you are alright?" Dumbledore stood from his chair long enough for Malfoy to nod, then took his seat. He motioned for Malfoy to do the same, but Malfoy just shook his head and remained standing.

"I did it, Dumbledore. I told him everything and now he wants me to off the entire clan of redheads and Granger."

Malfoy started pacing back and forth, his sandaled feet making twacking sounds as the leather smacked against his heel. His platinum hair was still wet, leaving little drops on his black shirt.

"Well, you mustn't to that, of course," Dumbledore said calmly, watching Malfoy closely over his interlocked fingers.

"I know that! But I need you to tell me what I'm going to do. I've stayed alive this long, and I refuse to die now."

Outside the study, Hermione Granger leaned against the heavy door and stuck an Extendable ear next to her face. Who was dying?

"You must realize that this is going to be a very precarious situation, so we're going to need you to remain calm."

"I've remained calm for two long years. I've fought werewolves, centaurs, acromantulas, trolls, giants, and all sorts of other creatures that I don't even know the name of. I'm going against my family, so I can save them. I'm going against all I've ever known, and all I've ever been taught, just so my family might have a shot at living through this war. As it is, I probably won't even live to see tomorrow. I have tried, Dumbledore, to remain calm. One small slip up and I'm dead. I don't have Potter's courage."

Hermione pressed her ear farther against the door. Whoever was on the other side of this door had a voice that compelled her to listen to its story, and she was falling victim to it more and more with each passing second. He had the same doubts she did, but unlike she, he wasn't afraid to voice them. He was vulnerable, at least right now. It was as if he had read her letter to Viktor and had chosen to voice them right when she happened to be listening. She leaned against the door farther, listening even closer than she thought possible.

"I will let you stay here tonight, and I hope you will be comfortable. Give me tonight to think over the mission you were given, and I hope I can come up with a suitable plan of action by tomorrow morning. Good night."

Hermione leaped up and ran to the other side of the hallway, and the mysterious occupant of the room didn't walk by. However, Albus Dumbledore did. He clapped a hand on her shoulder and she jumped violently. He smiled serenely down at her.

"Miss Granger, would you do the honor of joining me in my study for a few minutes?"

His voice left no room for discussion.

Hermione followed him into the room she had just been wishing she was in, and was suddenly overcome by a reflex to run.

"Miss Granger, you really shouldn't have been listening at the doorway."

Hermione glanced up quickly, and met understanding blue eyes. Dumbledore wasn't reprimanding her, he going to let her in on the secret of the stranger in the room.

"Who was here, Professor?" She asked, unable to contain her questions until a more appropriate time.

"Miss Granger, I have to tell you, that the person that was here is a spy, deep within the Dark Lord's ranks, and he is on our side. Tonight he gave the Dark Lord very wrong information that will make it possible for our young Mr. Potter to get to Kings Cross and on the train safely. It is because of him that we will be able to keep Mr. Potter alive long enough to get to Hogwarts. I cannot tell you his name."

"Please Professor, if I could only talk with him…"

"There's nothing you could say that would make his decision to be a spy any less reckless, any safer, and even knowing his identity, even knowing he exists puts his very life at risk." Dumbledore shook his head. "I cannot tell you."

"I understand," Hermione hung her head, feeling chagrined. Dumbledore put his hand on her shoulder again.

"Do not feel bad, Miss Granger. Curiosity plagues us all. Especially when we're curious about someone that sounds like they know our innermost thoughts."

Hermione's head snapped up and Dumbledore smiled. "To bed with you, Miss Granger. All will be well in the morning."

But, Hermione thought bitterly, Dumbledore will have a plan by morning, and the stranger would be gone. She padded back to her room, thinking of ways to possibly find out where in the cavernous house he could be. She knocked lightly on Fred and George's door.

"Come on in Hermy," George said pleasantly. "Looking for a way to get Ronniekins back for being …well…himself?"

"Not exactly. I just wanted to ask you if you knew how many bedrooms there are in the house."

"Why?" Fred said.

"Looking to move?" Asked George.

"Just curiosity, that's all."

"Six," George said. "Six bedrooms anyway. There's one for you, one for Gin, one for me and Fred, one for Bill and Charlie, when they're here, one for Mom and Dad, one for Harry and Ron, and one empty one, I guess for random visitors, because we get so many."

Fred laughed. Hermione cracked a smile, but didn't laugh out loud.

"Thanks George, thanks Fred!" she called as she bolted from the room.

Hermione counted off the rooms as she ran. Ginny's was right next to hers, Harry's and Ron's right on the landing, Bill's and Charlie's on the first floor, Molly's and Arthur's right next to that, and the final room.

At the landing of the third floor.

Hermione pressed her ear against the door again, hoping to hear the stranger's voice. No sound came. She pulled out her wand and traced a small square on the thick wood, producing a small window. She peered in, hoping to catch a glance of the man. He was lying on the bed, his back to Hermione's small hole, but he wasn't under any blankets. His black shirt clung to obvious muscles that rippled across his back, and his pants looked expensive. His skin was the palest white, with a few small scars marring the tender spot on the back of his neck.

Hermione leaned forward, and smacked her head on the wall.

The man didn't move, but rolled over, and Hermione had to cover her mouth to keep a scream from coming out. Or maybe it was puke. She had been captivated, taken in, and entranced by the voice of Draco Malfoy.

A/N: Okay, so I like writing Malfoy's thoughts, and Malfoy's actions, and everything Malfoy a lot more than I liked doing anything to do with the Golden Trio. Buttttt, I decided that Harry will be sort of reckless but teasing and kind to his friends, Ron will be immature, clumsy, and kind of thick, Malfoy will be malicious, but not as much, and Hermione is very cautious, but she's at her wits end, remember. So hopefully I get some reviews, and I hope to have another chapter for you later. Thank you all for reading, if you read. Now click the buttonnnnnnn.


	2. Letters of Identity

A/N: Thanks mucho to all of the people who reviewed to my first chapter. That's the most that ever reviewed to my first chapter in all the stories I've ever written. I would thank all of you individually, but frankly I don't feel like going back and looking up everyone's names. So, again, thanks. =)

Disclaimer: Nope. Don't even try to pin genius on me. It doesn't look right.

Chapter Two: Letters of Identity

The next morning, Draco Malfoy awoke to sunlight streaming in through a grimy window in a small, dusty room that was surely not his bedroom suite at the Manor. He bolted upright, looked around, then sighed and fell back into the one pillow on the small twin bed. He was in Grimmauld Place, the notorious headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, and also somewhere he didn't want to be.

It wasn't because he was afraid; Malfoy's were not afraid. Malfoy's were not allowed emotion, or so his father had taught him. The only emotion his father showed, it seemed, was anger. His mother only showed worry. And Draco…well Draco only showed contempt. He showed hate. He hated what he had been thrust into; he hated what he had to do to get out of it, alive or dead. He wanted out of the war, he wanted out of his family, he wanted out of everything. If one was so inclined, one would think Draco Malfoy wanted, even needed to die.

But alas, he was working his ass off just to stay alive.

He curled up into a tight little ball, and tucked his hands into the bottoms of his linen pajamas. Dumbledore promised to have a plan for him today. And yet Draco couldn't bring himself to get out of bed. Something told him, some unexplainable premonition, that there was no way Dumbledore could fix this. He was going to have to hobble along, hoping the Dark Lord would miraculously forget Draco's assignment, or his hatred toward Lucius Malfoy. But Harry Potter was a living reminder, everyday, that Draco's family was a failure. At least to the Dark side.

A tiny knock echoed around the room and Draco stared at the door, knowing it was a desperately foolish move to open the locked door under any circumstance. He was here in secret, and having Potty and his Weasel or the Mudblood knowing would mean instant death. Or a slow, painful one. The knocking continued, louder now, and Draco realized it was coming from the window, not the door. A small tawny owl was pecking impatiently at the door, with a letter tied to his leg.

Draco opened the window slowly, cautiously, even though a tiny owl was nothing to be afraid of. The owl held out its leg, and gave him a look of confusion, as if he couldn't quite understand why there was a letter attached to his leg. Draco untied it, petted the owl for a few seconds, and then let it fly away. He unrolled the piece of parchment and read it.

As he finished, he let a small smirk settle on his face. Whoever this person was writing to, it was not him, but he was glad he had intercepted it, if accidentally. This person, this woman, as he could deduce from the elegant cursive, was dealing with and mulling over the same doubts that gnawed away at his nerve endings every day before he went to sleep.

His eyes traveled over the beginning of the letter again, where the girl would be looking out a window and out onto sleeping London. Draco pulled back the curtains on the grimy windows, and glanced out to London, and wondered what the writer of that letter would be looking at.

Little did he know his view wasn't much different than the author's.

He sat down at the desk and pulled out a quill, adding more to the bottom of the letter.

Dear Friend at Hogwarts,

I'm not sure who you intended this letter to reach, but I'm sure it didn't reach him or her. I received your letter completely by accident, and I'm sorry if that frightens you.

But I know your troubles. I know your doubts. I feel them too. I wonder if greatness could be achieved. I wonder if life is really possible with a war like the one we have raging all around us. I wonder if living life to the fullest would lead me to death, or to happiness. I wonder if happiness exists.

I wonder many things, Dear Friend at Hogwarts, but what I wonder most is your identity. Won't you tell me your name?

Sincerely,

Lost in Wonder.

He rolled up the parchment and Summoned the owl that had brought him the letter, and sent it off.

*********

Hermione Granger heard the signs of an owl knocking on her window before she realized she was awake. She rolled over, and covered her face with her blanket, hoping that last night had been a terrible dream that was now over. But she couldn't take that chance. So until she was absolutely sure that Draco Malfoy was out of the house, she was not going to leave this room, should she accidentally run into him and blurt out that she knew he was a spy.

But was he really a spy? Could he really be trusted? Her worries now magnified tenfold, but nine tenths of her problems now swirled around a blonde haired teenage boy that was fighting for his life, but she had no idea which side was trying to kill him.

Or maybe it was both.

The knocking sounds got louder and she groaned loudly, as if the owl would take the hint and leave until later in the afternoon. The owl, as if spiting her, knocked louder and insistently against the pane of glass. Hermione finally grumbled and rolled out of bed, using her wand to open the window and let the owl in. It held out its leg, looking quite disgruntled, and wouldn't take her owl treat before it took off into the morning light. Hermione set the letter on the desk and decided to get dressed before she read Viktor's reply.

She opened the door to the ancient armoire near the door and rummaged through it, looking for something to wear, and wondered suddenly why she even bothered. Her fingers stopped on a sundress her mother had bought her a long time ago and she pulled it out, a small smile gracing her delicate lips.

She slipped it on, and pulled her hair into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She smiled at her reflection, her translucent skin unblemished, except for her annoying freckles, her wide chocolate brown eyes, and her unbridled brunette curls. She turned away and picked up the letter, now looking forward to seeing and deciphering Viktor's messy scrawl.

But as she opened it, she knew something was terribly wrong. Viktor always used a new piece of parchment to send her a letter, but this person merely added dialogue to the bottom of the scroll. Viktor's handwriting was messy and illegible, this person's handwriting was elegant, tasteful, and flawless.

This was not Viktor at all.

Her eyes scanned the letter, drinking in every word. Whoever had found it obviously didn't take the owl on purpose, and seemed just what Hermione had wished Draco Malfoy was last night: a confidant, someone with the same feelings as she, compassion and understanding. She smiled at the letter, and smiled again at the signature. Well, if this person wasn't going to reveal their identity, neither was she.

She scrawled a hasty reply and sent the letter out and bounded out the door, suddenly ready to face the day.

*********

Ronald Weasley watched Hermione Granger bound downstairs a full ten minutes late for breakfast, and couldn't help but let his eyes linger. The pale blue dress she wore hung to mid-thigh, and a few curls hung around her pretty face, and Ron couldn't help but thing that she looked so damn pretty just because he had ruined his only chance with her last night. He turned away from her quickly, focusing on the sausages and eggs in front of him.

Hermione sat down next to Harry, even though a space had intentionally been left between Harry and Ron so Hermione would have to sit next to Ron at meals. Ginny, instead of sitting between Harry and George, was forced to sit between Ron and Harry. But, Ron noted bitterly, Hermione didn't even look upset. In fact, she looked completely unbothered.

Harry noticed too. "You look happy," he said, and Ron tried to quell his jealousy that Harry could so readily talk to Hermione and he couldn't. Harry reached over and brushed a stray curl away from Hermione's fork. "What's up?"

Ron clenched his fist under the table.

"Oh nothing. It's just a new day, new possibilities, you know," Hermione waved her fork around, dropping all the egg she had managed to pile on it. "Drat," she mumbled, and gathered more. Harry just laughed and returned to his breakfast, leaving Ron far out of the conversation.

Breakfast continued on in relative silence, with everyone mostly too sleepy to speak. Ginny ate with gusto and leaped up from the table, going to help her twin brothers on one of their new WWW products. Harry and Hermione chatted easily, about nothing in particular, and soon it was only the Golden Trio left at the table.

When the final Order member left the table (Molly), the easy chatter stopped. Hermione quickly finished eating and carried her empty plate to the sink, where Ron quickly joined her. He admired her slim little body hunched over at the sink, her hair all tangled and tied behind her head. He set the plate next to hers.

"Hermione—" he began.

And she was walking away, her wand clenched in her hand from when she cleaned both his and her plate. He could tell by the way she bounced when she walked that she was angry. She always did that when she wanted to stomp, but refused. When she wanted to run from the room, but wouldn't give her antagonizer the satisfaction.

Ron leaned against the counter, and crossed his arms sullenly.

"You can't expect her to just forgive you, Ron," Harry said sagely. "Give her some time."

Ron turned away, ignoring his best friend. Harry stared at his friend's profile for a few seconds before he left too, leaving Ron alone in the kitchen.

*********

Ginny Weasley smiled at her brother George, who stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes. Fred was hunched over the Extendable Ear that he was modifying. They already used it to hear things that they normally wouldn't be able to, but they were going to modify it to be able to see as well. Ginny wasn't much help, since she didn't know the complicated spells they were using to create the small camera on the end of the Ear.

But nonetheless, she stood by her brothers, her best friends, other than Hermione. She had barely spoken to Hermione in a few days, since she was so caught up in her brothers' invention. Fred tapped the ear, and it wiggled slowly, and Ginny pushed all thoughts of her friends out of her mind. She squinted at it, praying it was going to work.

Fred pushed an end of the ear into his own ear and frowned in concentration. Ginny and George watched in anticipation. Ginny squeezed George's hand and he squeezed back excitedly. The ear wiggled under the crack of the door where there was a nest of doxy eggs that they had yet to exterminate. Fred crossed his fingers, opened his eyes, and a muffled BOOM knocked him to the floor.

Ginny and George ran over to his side and helped him into a sitting position.

"Are you ok?" Ginny asked.

"What did you see?" George asked.

Fred rubbed his head, blinked a few times, and yanked the end out of his ear. "I saw the little nest for about a second, and then poof!" he waved his arms around, and collapsed in a heap on the floor. "All gone!"

George laughed and helped him up. Ginny held up the Ear and stared at it, wondering what on earth they could do to make it work.

"Would a Shield spell help with the recoil?" she asked. "Or something? I mean, cast a shield around the user and see if it still knocks them over. If it doesn't, then just use the concept of your Shield hats and gloves to make this work…I think." She frowned again, talking more to herself than to anyone else.

When she looked up, George was staring at her.

"What?" she asked.

"You know, soon you could be a partner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, if you work hard," he threw an arm around his sister's shoulder.

Ginny grinned goofily under her brother's arm, bursting with pride.

*********

Draco Malfoy sat in Dumbledore's makeshift study, his hands resting on the arms of the chair he was sitting it in. He stared at the wall, counting seconds until Dumbledore would enter the room. He was already up to 1,846. He hadn't been told to come here yet, but he had paced the length of the room he had slept in too many times to count and he had to admit the small room was making him crazy. He frowned as he thought about why he was in this particular room, and he suddenly lost his place in the counting. He tried to get the rhythm back, but he had lost it for good.

He ran his hands though his now shaggy and long hair and kept his hands clasped behind his neck. He thought back to the letter he had received. He wondered briefly if there would be another letter waiting for him when he got back to the Manor, or maybe to the room here.

The author, he thought, was someone he felt like he knew, someone he had spoken to, face to face. He thought back to every single girl he had ever met, and no one fit the description of her he had created in his mind. Beautiful, intelligent, and strong, at least on the outside. In the inside, she was insecure, doubtful, and scared. But he thought she was still strong.

Then he smacked himself on the forehead.

"Mr. Malfoy, we can't have you beating yourself up like that," said a kind voice. Malfoy turned all the way around, and locked eyes with Albus Dumbledore.

"Did you come up with a plan?" Malfoy asked, without prompting.

"Well, Draco, we've tried. Hogwarts will have all of their letters opened and read, and anything coming from known Death Eaters will not have access. So you won't receive any letters from your father or anyone else. If somehow they manage to contact you, you have to put them off as long as you can, until we can come up with a better solution." Dumbledore laid a hand on Malfoy's shoulder.

Malfoy buried his face in his hands, wishing Dumbledore wouldn't be so optimistic. They both knew where this was going. There was a clock that hung over his head, and it was slowly counting down until the clock ran out, when Draco would finally die.

"Have some hope, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said quietly. "Stay here tonight. I'll take food up to you."

Malfoy scoffed. "I should just take Polyjuice Potion and stay with the Order members all the time."

Dumbledore smiled softly. "Well…"

Malfoy stood up quickly. "No, no, no, I refuse to hang out with Potty, Weasel, and Granger. No."

"Well, Draco, they won't know who you are, so they'll be perfectly friendly."

"Potty? Perfectly friendly?" Draco rolled his eyes. "There's something wrong with this, Professor."

"I'll have the potion ready by tomorrow."

Draco turned his back to the Professor stubbornly. Dumbledore smiled at the boy's back and retreated from the room.

A/N: Sorry this took forever, I got the beginning up fine, and I could not for the life of me figure out how to end this. Or even get to the middle. Maybe I'll update immediately. Everyone have a merry Christmas. =) Eat an extra cookie on me.


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